Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Camino Entry 63

Entry
63, January 26th,
2012

Sitting
in the Dublin airport, around 7:30am local time. I managed to get
some sleep . . . makeshift sleeping locations keep the pilgrim inside
of me smiling.

I
have been experiencing periods of “fuzzy” as I am living life
after the camino. These are interspersed with moments of clarity
where I feel like a pilgrim again. I just skimmed through Coelho's
book on his pilgrimage and it has left me feeling clear, calm, and
fluid.

The
clarity is where I want to remain. Fatigue and sickness have me worn
down somewhat, as well as being traveling for 11 months. But the
camino has left me with a powerful spiritual momentum as well. Peter
was right – the way back is just as important as the way there. I
wonder if the way back is the secret camino mentioned by Coelho's
guide?

But
this was not the right camino to walk back. It wasn't the right
camino at all, in some ways – I mean, it was exactly the right
camino for the moment, but it is not my camino. It was training, the
beginning, the test run. My camino lies somewhere more personal to
me. It will be a path much like the first part in Cataluña –
intense and walked alone.

Although
maybe I am wrong. Maybe Santiago became a part of my personal
mythology through these experiences. I don't know. I feel the fog
returning. I needed to walk the way back, but where would I have
walked back to? It is going to take me a while to sort through all
of this. I am unsure about the third liminal stage.

Later

The
British couldn't do it, but the Irish have sold me on the idea of
beans as breakfast food. And I was the only Yankee on a flight of
all Irish people last night . . . just as the British accent makes
dental visits bearable, the Irish accent makes flying a pleasure.

The
one comforting thing about living a life asleep is that you wouldn't
notice being asleep.

I
must remember that the camino was not a paradise of clarity and the
beginner mind – rather, it was usually confusion, frustration,
doubt, and fear. There is no reason to expect normal life to be any
different.

Kenny
Werner says that struggling young musicians keep playing music
because either 1. They love doing it, 2. They need to express
themselves, or 3. They're afraid not to do it. This is something I
need to look inside myself and find the answer to. Although I
suppose my actions will answer it for me. Damn, I prayed to have the
strength to act despite fear, and it might take me away from the
music.

But
if it takes me away from the music, I was never that close to begin
with.

Later

Just
went through US customs! Huge American flag! Big picture of Barack
Obama! So excited to be going home. It is about three times more
complicated than all of the other customs, but everyone here has been
really profession and friendly. Good to have real, green,
freedom-loving money in my pocket instead of that Hasbro Euro shit.
'Muhrica!

I
love the United States. Sitting on the EL from O'Hare to Union
Station, a woman across from me was having a conversation about
bidding on a mule via an iPhone. She mentoined Wyoming and so after
her call I asked if she knew Pinesdale . . . she does! I need to
tell Ryan that I met the fire marschall from Jackson Hole on her way
to see the Chicago Symphony perform Carmina Burana.

Midwesterners
are
friendlier. I didn't notice before leaving for a year, but I have
been having conversations with total strangers ever since I landed.
This just doesn't happen in Europe.

The
Midwest is resplendent with ugly January. I love it. Dead brown
trees, dirty snow, cracked pavement, people hunched over in winter
coats. It exists under harsh orange streetlamps, visible in fleeting
images as Amtrak #354 speeds out of Chicago. It is ugly and I love
it. It is the land of the blues.

Our
country deserves better, though, especially passenger rail. Nobody
does freight rail on the scale we do or as well, but Amtrak sucks.
Underfunded and out of date. If the political will doesn't exist to
rebuild passenger rail in this country, somebody else should do it.
Someone like me.

The
railroad narrative is very different between Europe and here. In
Europe, the story is of a beautiful symphony of rail lines, curving
together in crescendos and decrescendos in a work of art. The fact
that trains run on them is secondary. In the USA, though, it is all
about the lone locomotive, setting out to do battle with the
elements. The traveler conquering the terrain.